


Trouble Bruin

by AuthorToBeNamedLater



Series: Keeping Up With The Raptors [32]
Category: Hockey RPF, No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Sports, Boston Bruins, Gen, Hockey, Humor, National Hockey League, Raptors, Seattle, Sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:09:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2598212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorToBeNamedLater/pseuds/AuthorToBeNamedLater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Raptors visit Boston. Trouble ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, this is a chance for me to love on my local boys a little :). 
> 
> Ray Bourque's son Chris really did play in the Bruins' system for a bit though he didn't have much of a stint with the big club, and if Ronny were real he would have played with Andy Brickley.
> 
> We're getting near the end here everyone. Thanks for bearing with me through the longest inaugural season in history.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I realized after posting that I completely forgot to upload this first part. That's what being engaged will do to your brain. I thought about not posting it but it will become useful to the story later on, if I ever get to later on, so here it is.

Without a doubt, Samantha Richardson's favorite road trips were the ones that passed through Boston. It only happened every other year, but it was one of the only times the Raptors' athletic trainer got to visit her hometown. Sure, it was only for a day or so, but a visit was a visit and the assorted Richardsons—Samantha's father, her brothers, and their families—always made a point to be at TD Garden even if they were rooting for the other guys.

“Auntie Sam? Are you a doctor?”

Samantha stood up from her examination of the lower cabinets in the trainers' room. They were, as expected, fully stocked, but she'd learned from experience that it was always best to check.

“No,” Samantha answered her nine-year-old niece Alicia.

“So what are you?” Alicia asked from her perch on the table.

“I'm an athletic trainer,” Samantha said.

“Is it like being a doctor?” Rob Richardson, Samantha's brother and Alicia's father, was a trauma surgeon at Massachusetts General Hospital.

“Kind of,” Samantha answered. “Doctors take care of big stuff, like if you need medicine or an operation. I do smaller stuff. Like if someone gets hurt.” It was a fairly crude explanation. Samantha might not be able to prescribe medication or wield a scalpel, but she still handled plenty of “big stuff.”

A knock came at the door and Samantha turned around. “Hey.” It was Mikey.

“Oh, hi, Mikey,” Samantha greeted.

Mikey cocked his head at Alicia. “Who's this, the apprentice?”

Alicia giggled.

“This is my niece, Alicia,” Samantha rested a hand on Alicia's shoulder. “Alicia, this is Mikey Palmer. He plays for the Raptors.”

Alicia gave a shy little wave.

Mikey gave her a winsome smile and waved back. “You wanted to take a look at my knee?” He said to Samantha.

“Oh, yeah,” Samantha answered. “Alicia, why don't you go wait outside, sweetie.”

“OK,” Alicia hopped off the table.

“No, she can stay,” Mikey said.

Alicia looked at Samantha, and Samantha looked at Mikey. “You sure?”

“It's just my knee.”

Samantha shrugged. “All right then.”

Alicia climbed back onto the table and Mikey sat next to her. “So how old are you, Miss Alicia?”

“Nine,” Alicia responded.

Samantha rolled Mikey's sweatpants up to his knee. No swelling.

“Nine,” Mikey repeated. “So you're in...fourth grade?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Has this been bugging you at all?” Samantha asked.

“The knee? Not really, anymore.” Mikey turned to Alicia. “You got a boyfriend?”

Alicia blushed and giggled. Samantha bit her lip to swallow a laugh. “No.”

“No?!”

“My daddy says I'm not allowed to date until I'm 35.”

Samantha laughed a little. That sounded like her brother. And her father. She gently flexed Mikey's knee. “Any of this hurt?”

“Nope.”

Samantha looked up at her niece. “And your Granddaddy told me the same thing about dating.” She pressed on Mikey's kneecap. “Hurt?”

“I'd tell you if it did.”

“Bullsh—crap,” Samantha corrected herself, belatedly remembering the presence of a minor. “You're a hockey player. You wouldn't tell me if your arm was hanging off.”

Mikey looked at his trainer blankly for a second. “It doesn't hurt.”

Alicia cocked her head. “Aren't you 35, Auntie Sam?”

Samantha didn't answer. “I think you're good.” She looked back at Mikey. “Let me know if it starts bugging you again, all right?”

“Sure thing, Doc.” Mikey slid off the table. “See you on the ice.”

“He's cute,” Alicia observed once Mikey was gone.

Samantha wasn't going to confirm or deny that. “He's a good player. You'll get to see him tonight.”

“Do you like him?”

Samantha whirled around. “What?”

“You do, don't you.” Alicia looked almost smug.

“That's against the rules,” Samantha answered.

“That's not an answer,” Alicia pressed.

Samantha put her hands on her hips and regarded her niece. “Since when do you care about boys?” She titled her head toward the door. “Get out of here. Your dad's waiting.”

Alicia bounded toward the door. “See you after the game, Auntie Sam.”

Samantha laughed to herself and picked up her phone. She had a text from her father. Before she could read it Alicia came scampering back into the room.

“Auntie Sam?"

“Mm-hm?” Samantha looked up from her phone.

“I'm gonna tell Granddaddy you have a crush.”

“You do that,” Samantha said neutrally.

“And that you swore.”

Samantha pointed to the door. “Leave.”

Alicia obeyed, giggling all the way.

 


	2. Chapter 2

If someone asked Andor Ronningen how he felt returning to Boston (and lots of people would over the next several hours), the best response he could think of was _“Old."_

And Andor was old. He wasn't deluding himself. At 44, he was two years older than Teemu Selanne, the next oldest player in the league. And lately coming back to Boston had started to make Andor feel each one of his years.

Almost none of the players Andor had shared the dressing room with on the team that drafted him were playing anymore. One of them was doing color in the booth. Most had retired and retreated to whatever remote town in Canada they called home to be with their families. Two of them even had their numbers hanging from the rafters at TD Garden. So much had changed that Andor no longer felt like he was coming back to his old team when the Raptors made their biennial visit to Boston. He'd played in the old Boston Garden. Just for a few years, but he'd still played there. And he'd played in TD Garden when it was still the FleetCenter. He'd played against teams that didn't exist anymore, players that had come and gone while Andor just couldn't seem to get away from the game. Sure, he could go, maybe he should have gone last year, but he couldn't make himself. Not yet. He still didn't really know why.

Andor idly chipped a puck up the boards as morning skate drew to a close. The Raptors on hand—most had taken the morning off--crowded to the visitors' dressing room while the Bruins took the ice for their turn.

“Hey, man! How you been?” Mikey's voice came from behind Andor.

“Hey, Mikey, what's up?”

Andor looked over his shoulder. _What in the world. Chris Bourque?_

Andor had played with Chris' father on the Bruins. Andor and Ray hadn't been close. They were teammates and occasional D partners, but they didn't spend a lot of time together off the ice. Still, Andor remembered the Bruins' captain taking his sons skating after practice, and the two boys watching practices from the stands when allowed.

And now it seemed one of them was playing for Boston. How old was Chris now? Andor didn't want to think about it. _I'm so old._

“Hey,” Andor said when Mikey joined him in the tunnel. “How do you know Chris?”

“I played with him in Hershey when we were both in the Capitals' system,” Mikey said. “Why? How do you know him?”

Andor scowled. As if he needed more reminders of what a geezer he was. “I played with his father.”

.

.

.

Contrary to what many people believed, the life of a hockey player was fairly routine. Travel to a certain city, stay there, play there, repeat. Games themselves were often fairly predictable as well. Sure, nobody knew the result going in, but the process was the same everywhere: 60 minutes, maybe 65 plus a shootout if necessary, collect the W or the L, and carry on. It was predictably unpredictable, a lot of passing and playmaking punctuated by moments of terror.

The past three minutes had been terrifying for the Raptors' goalie. Sandy would never say it, but he knew he was the only reason the game was tied 1-1 as the first period ticked away. The Raptors had been running around in their own end for far too long now, the Bruins stifling all their clearing attempts and the Raptors hardly keeping anything away from Sandy. _Would it kill you boys to clear?_

Sandy lunged from the crease to keep the Bruin charging toward him from getting the puck behind the net and settled back into the paint. Andor nabbed the puck and shuttled it out of the Raptors' zone. _Thanks for the break, Ron._

Just as he was about to cross into Boston's end, Andor ran headlong into Zdeno Chara. Sandy nearly spit out his mouth guard when the Raptors' defenseman started swinging at the tallest man to ever play in the National Hockey League.

.

.

.

Up in the Bruins' broadcast booth, Andy Brickley winced internally as his former teammate Andor Ronningen crashed into Chara. Ronningen was plenty tall and strong in his own right, but Chara was taller and probably stronger.

“Ronningen... _crashes_ into the Great Wall of Chara!” Jack Edwards, Brickley's play-by-play partner exclaimed.

“Ronningen's mad,” Brickley observed. Ronningen lifted himself off the boards and shoved at Chara. “He thinks Chara was interfering with him.” And whether or not Ronningen had a case, the big Norseman was making sure Chara knew he wasn't happy.

“And we've got a clash of the titans here,” Jack announced, clearly relishing the bout between two of the NHL's heaviest of the heavyweights. Chara stood 6' 9” and tipped the scales at 255; Ronningen was 6' 5” and 250.

The officials had started to gather, but for now were content to let the jousting players vent their frustration.

.

.

.

LaJeunesse crossed his arms over his chest and tried not to look too amused while Chara and Ronningen duked it out. Even though he had to admit the spectacle was fairly amusing.

The Raptors and Bruins behind their respective benches were all standing and tapping their sticks along the boards by now. LaJeunesse slid a glance at Claude Julien.

The Bruins' coach, a portly, bald Canadian LaJeunesse knew only in passing, spread his hands and gave a little shrug as if to say _“Boys will be boys.”_

LaJeunesse snorted a laugh and looked back at the ice.

.

.

.

“Chara lands a haymaker on Ronningen's noggin...and Ronningen _gets him in a headlock!”_ Jack narrated. “Not a lot of people in this world who can do that.”

Brickley, like everyone else in the reach of NESN's broadcast, gave the Bruins' play-by-play man a fond eyeroll.

The linesmen finally broke up the tussle. Chara fired some verbiage at Ronningen, who could only be bothered to glower at him, and the two went off for their matching five-minute penalties.

“You played with Ronningen, didn't you, Brick?” Jack asked while the players prepared to resume.

“I did, yes,” Brickley answered. “That guy's a horse. I don't know how he's still playing.”

“Looks like he hasn't lost a step.”

“No. No, he hasn't.”

.

.

.

Janko leapt over the boards and joined Hank on the ice, ready to double shift for the five minutes Ronny would be in the box. “Do they do this every year or is it me?” The Slovak asked over the din of cheering from the stands.

Hank shrugged.

.

.

.

The Bruins ended up taking a 3-2 shootout victory, and the Raptors were happy to have the extra point as they tried to keep their heads above water in the playoff hunt. Two would have been better, no doubt, but one kept them ahead of Minnesota for the eighth seed.

Andor tossed his sweater in the laundry bin and continued with getting his things together. The Raptors were flying to Montreal for a game tomorrow night. Andor's phone dinged and he dug it out of the mess in his stall. He unlocked the screen and read the message.

_**What, no sleeper hold?** _

_**-Z** _

Andor smiled.

 

 

 


End file.
